#152) Irrigation – GRAPHIC CONTENT

Many of my stories share a similarity. They feature some form of an outlaw character, one who is guilty of breaking and entering. My ass. He/she spanks me, reduces me down to my submissive essence, and fulfills my sexual needs, including a fucking in my private place, the dirty place. My ass.
This story is different. The protagonist is a good guy, as well as featuring a sexy exploration of something quite different from where we’ve gone before.
“Look at this!” I exclaim, holding the two potted plants up to my breasts, so he’ll be more likely to really look and see. “I’ve kept these two plants alive for over four months, that’s a record for me!”
“You deserve a good girl spanking,” John compliments, coming close to kiss me, and grab my exposed and undefended butt.
“I DO deserve a good girl spanking! I can’t remember the last time I got one, instead of the punishing kind. This is special! Make it special, John!…”
He takes the clay pots from my hands and carefully places them back on the windowsill where they’ve been flourishing. He takes me in his arms and gets even more serious about this playful session of impact play. His lips are firm yet playful upon mine, his hands caress and cup my bum cheeks in the same way. Normal I’m afraid at this moment, the seconds before a spanking, but now it’s pure longing in anticipation of attentions focused on my rear. His hands part me, the fingers of one hand playing around my anus, the fingers of his other hand aligning with the slit of my vagina and holding me there. The hand on my pussy is reassuring, the hand up my ass crack is ticklish. For some strange reason, I think of the lyrics of a nursery rhyme, “Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posey…” as his finger circles my rosebud. I melt. I mean melt so completely, my knees feel weak. Without him there, I might have crumpled into a heap. As it was, I slowly sink to the floor as he supports me for a soft landing. But the wooden floor is hard and cold.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable on the bed?” he asks. I nod. John picks me up in his arms and carries me to our bed, places me on the gold satin duvet. I don’t want to be put across his knee. That position has too many associations with pain and lectures, crime and punishment. I pull my knees in and push my ass high into the air. I feel my sexiest, with my sexiest feature most prominent.
“Spank me, John…”
His hands circle my roundness, his flesh is warmer than mine (as it often is); first the friction of the rubbing warms me, then soft slap after soft slap further my journey toward igniting into a fireball. The love-pats add up, it doesn’t sting, it does tingle. A litany of words push me further.
“Do you know how beautiful you are, Jeanie? Do you know how gorgeous I find you? I don’t think you can. You are a good person, sweet, caring, conscientious. It’s rare to find such a good person in so beautiful an outer shell. Usually the outside spoils the inside, the attention and compliments affect the inner innocence. But not you, Jeanie, you generate so much positivity and light, I’m surprised that those plants don’t grow towards you!”
As John said this, his hands wander all over my upturned ass, lightly caressing and softly spanking, appreciating to the point of worship. The words pour out of him.
“I love this ass! I never understood the term ‘butt ugly.’ The female butt is so feminine, and yours is the epitome of asses! You are butt beautiful!”
The words stop as John nuzzles his face across my ass. I can’t help but close my eyes as he pushes his face into my divide, nuzzling my rosebud, kissing me there. John knows how anal I am, knows that I won’t be able to say “no” to anything after this kind of attention. I hear my breath come faster as he Frenches me there, soon I’m sighing and whimpering my want.
When his words start again, he takes a different tack. “Did you water those plants regularly?”
“What?” The question wrenches me back to reality, and even though I’m glad he’s curious about my horticultural success, I’d rather have stayed in heiny-heaven, where his tongue had transported me. “Oh, ah, yeah…” I mutter, trying to think coherently, “I found I had to set up a schedule… to water enough but not too much…”
“Every living things needs water,” John said enigmatically, his face still just inches from my peach cleft. I could feel his hot breath on me there, so wanted to feel his tongue in me there. “I think it’s time to water your lovely bottom, Jeanie…”
“I think I need to give you an enema, Jeanie.”
“An… enema…?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m going to irrigate your bowels, and when we’re done, I bet you become an addict…”
“I’ve never had an… what do I have to do?”
“Just stay there on your elbows and knees,” John says over his shoulder as he rushes to get all the equipment. I minute later he is massaging a large quantity of lubricant up my ass. I’m apprehensive, but intrigued.
“I love it so far…!” I swoon.
As he prepares all the stuff, he says, “The dictionary defines irrigation as both, ‘washing out with water or a medicinal fluid and to vitalize or make fertile.’ You are going to feel revitalized and new…”
He inserts the nozzle up my anus, flips a latch on the tube, and warm water begins flowing from the big, rubber hot water bottle into me. It feels strange, it feels nasty somehow. But it feels so sexy to this anal-erotic fetishist!
“How do you know when to shut off the flow?” I ask, a bit worried about this foreign procedure.
“We’ll know… Shhh! Just enjoy the sensations…”
“May I masturbate? It’s kind of… sexy!”
“That’s because you’re so innately sexual,” John mock-reprimands with a reproachful swat to my left cheek. “Because this is a part of your ‘good girl’ treatment, yes, this time. If I want to make it punishing, I’ll give you a cold water enema that’ll make your tummy cramp, and you won’t be allowed to touch yourself… We can also experiment with putting a little wine in the water bottle, and get you drunk real fast…”
As I played with my pussy, John massages my belly, alternately pinching my nipples.
“Okay, I’m full!” I announce.
“Good girl, now take a little bit more… Relax, take it all in…”
“I’m really full, John! I feel…desperate! I need to…”
“Stay right there… take a little bit more water, you can do it…”
I moan. He reads my body language and responds.
“I’m gonna take the nozzle out slowly. Be a good girl and don’t let a single drop escape…”
He did, I didn’t. I cry out, “May I be excused to the bathroom?”
With a sound spank, he sends me on my way. Even though I’m giving you a blow-by-blow detailed description of this lavage, I’m not into scatology. I won’t describe what transpires in the bathroom. I will say that when I emerge, I feel ten pounds lighter. John repeats the whole process, from the rectal reaming with lots of lube onward. Because there’s more room inside me now, I can accept even more water (from the bag he refilled while I was emptying my contents). While the deluge was flowing into me, I masturbated to the most exquisite series of orgasms, with tummy-somersaulting gymnastics, and mind-blowing head-rushes.
When I emerge from expelling, I blithely inquire, “Did you put some wine in there? I feel high as a kite!”
“That’s the endorphins at work,” he smiles as he re-anoints my receptive rectum.
“I can see how this could be addictive…” I sigh.
“They say that Mae West, the old-time movie sex kitten, asked for an enema every day,” John answers. “She claimed it improved her complexion. You have some bacteria in your gut that should stay there, so that frequently isn’t healthy. But, about once a month could be fun…”
“It’s a date!” I smile. “But right now, do you have your phone on you?”
“Of course,” John answers, getting out his iPhone.
“Take some pictures of my butt with that tube up it, please. I want to commemorate my first enema. Thank you for this, lover!”
“If my normally-camera-shy submissive is asking for nude photos of her ass, I know that she must be high,” he chortles as he clicks off shot after shot. Again, I can’t help but masturbate. Again, I can’t help but climax exhaustively. John laughs at how my anus sucks the nozzle all the deeper into me as I climax. “It’s like your butt hole is another mouth, a voracious mouth!”
“Remember that fact when you kiss me back there the next time,” I smile.
“Speaking of being voracious…!” John says with astonishment. “I’ve given you two full bags worth this time…”
My belly was only a little distended, but I definitely sloshed as I moved. I felt pregnantly full. I took John by the hand.
“I would’ve been mortified if you had wanted to come with me to the bathroom for the first expulsion. But it was nearly crystal clear the second time. I want you to fuck me,” I said, stepping into the shower stall. “I want to try to hold the enema until I cum. I want to climax and expel simultaneously. Are you game?”
John’s answer was his wicked wide smile and the rapidity with which he shed his clothes and joined me in the shower. I lean my shoulder blades against the tile wall, offering my pussy out to my lover in a standing missionary position. John had to flex at the knees in order to enter me, but it was so hot fucking under the hot stream of water from the shower head, feeling the pressure build inside me, in both places. I was able to hold it until all parties concerned were ready. John hammers into my pussy. I feel my sex start to squirt, as it only does when a really major climax is erupting. I relax and push. Gushes of water explode from out of my ass. My ass. It feels like I came in long spurts out of my ass, just like it did the first time I was able to squirt during sex. If I hadn’t been deeply impaled on my lover’s erection, I would’ve fallen to the shower floor. As it was, I fell against John, spent.
“Consider yourself watered, irrigated, little girl,” John said. “Good girl.”
He helps me into my luxurious terry-cloth robe, and puts his on. We fall into bed and nap in each other’s arms. I wake up a half an hour later, while John softly snores, and I take stock. I feel lighter than air, literally like I’m filled with helium, like I could float off the mattress. You would think that having my bowels purified would’ve done something positive and pious to my dirty mind, but not so.
John wakes up with a massive boner; he has to take a pee. This is probably what awakened him. I stop him from getting out of bed by gripping it like a handle.
“I have to go…” he says groggily.
“I know, but just wait a minute.
“I really have to pee!”
“I know, and I really needed to expel quarts, but you kept me here. So hold on, I have something to suggest…”
“Next week, when you give me another enema…” I start.
“So that’s a thing already, a set appointment?”
“You better believe it! Anyway, first, I want you to fuck me up the ass, and then I want you to have drunk a lot of water. I want you to pee up my bowels for my first enema rinse! Will you do that?”
“If you want..”
“I want,” I said with finality, and released him to let him run to the bathroom. Even through the closed bathroom door, I could hear that mighty flow splash into the toilet for long minutes. I wanted to feel that, share that. Up my ass. I had the enema to look forward to; I had John’s personal enema as a wrinkle to look forward to receiving. I fall back into bed, reach a hand down to play at both my holes, my still-throbbing sex, and my well-trafficked ass. Just like my two potted plants, my sex life was flourishing, with a little dirt, and a lot of water. But it can’t grow in darkness. We need to bring our sex lives out into the open, into the sunlight.

6 responses to “#152) Irrigation – GRAPHIC CONTENT”

      • You gave me the idea of it in a previous comment, erosprism. I try to only write from what I know, so just suggest the idea here. I may have to experiment with it, and then write another enema piece… It’s a VERY HOT idea!

        Liked by 2 people

      • Oh wow! That’s cool. I had no idea I would inspire such ideas! I don’t know why such things turn me on so much, but it’s very arousing. If you are interested in one of my stories about it, check out A Little Messy. I very much look forward to further pieces from you on this! 😘

        Liked by 1 person

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